


Do You Want The Truth, Or Something Beautiful?

by InsideMyBrain



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Comforting, Crying, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, F/M, Hope vs. Despair, Metaphors, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Pre-TBL, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-31 22:00:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12691026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsideMyBrain/pseuds/InsideMyBrain
Summary: Optimism and pessimism, before and after, truth and beauty. There is no in between, except when it comes to Violet Baudelaire.Or: the three times Isadora asked Violet a question, and the one time Duncan asked Isadora.





	Do You Want The Truth, Or Something Beautiful?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song of the same name by Paloma Faith.

Isadora Quagmire had grown significantly less optimistic over the years. Unsurprising, but no less disappointing. She longed to be the person she was so long ago, before the fire and Olaf and all the horrible things that followed. Her experiences had taught her that to be hopeful was inviting misfortune, so she forced back any uplifting thoughts until her mind with a black cloud of negativity.

She still retained her poetic skill and passion, and though her style and influences had evolved over the years, she felt her poetry was the only safe place she had left. She allowed herself to be hopeful and optimistic in her art, because there, she could control it. Unlike the miserable world she lived in, the worlds in her poems she presided over and bent to her will. Though sometimes her pen raced across the page of its own accord, she could always rein it in. She kept her art in a safe spot - cautiously optimistic, halfway happy.

Over the years, a phrase she used in an early poem became a catchphrase of sorts:  _do you want the truth or something beautiful?_  She asked people this when they were upset at the wickedness of the world, offering them a choice between her grim opinion or a piece of poetry that was lighter, but ultimately false. Duncan usually chose the former, while Quigley chose the latter.

The first time she used the phrase with Violet was shortly after they'd all moved in together.

Their little apartment was cramped and overflowing with books and the smells of Sunny's cooking wafted through the rooms. It wasn't the luxurious sort of house they'd all grown up in, but it was home and they were trying. Isadora was sixteen at the time. Violet was seventeen and even lovlier than Isadora remembered from when she was fourteen. They had so much more time to get to know each other, and during the daylight hours everything was finally alright.

It wasn't the same at night. 

Isadora wasn't sure what was worse: the insomnia or the nightmares. On one hand, insomnia took a physical toll as well as a mental one, and staying up all night always prompted her to think about the things she'd rather not. On the other, the nightmares were so terrifying and realistic that she didn't even want to sleep.

On this particular night, she was battling insomnia when she heard Violet whimpering in the bed next to her.

“Violet?” she whispered, unsure if she was awake or not.

A whine escaped Violet's lips. She clutched her blankets for dear life, and Isadora decided she was definitely sleeping. Slipping out of her bed, she approached Violet and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was very warm. 

“Violet, wake up,” she said gently, rocking Violet's body with her hand. “Wake up, you're dreaming. It's just a dream.”

Violet's eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at Isadora. Her brown eyes, illuminated by a strip of moonlight, showed blank unrecognition at first. Then she blinked, and relief came flooding into them. 

Isadora sat on her bed. “You're safe,” she said softly. She reached out a hand to brush back some of Violet's hair, but Violet grabbed it and clutched onto her. Isadora felt she was trembling. “How bad?”

“You couldn't even begin to imagine,” Violet croaked. She pulled the blankets tight around her, even though it was the middle of summer and the heat was suffocating. 

The two were silent for a few minutes, Violet breathing slowly and shakily. Then she looked up at Isadora and said, “do you think they'll ever stop?”

Isadora smiled sadly. “Do you want the truth, or something beautiful?”

“Huh?”

“Shall I tell you what I really think, or something poetic designed to make you feel better?”

Violet thought for a moment. “The truth.”

“No.”

Isadora had long known that words were powerful, and that they could be many different kinds of power. They could be the explosive power of a grenade or the fear-invoking roil of a stormy sea. This word carried with it a new sort of power, something that killed. It withered and shriveled and darkened. It was like the cruel power of winter on that hot summer night.

“I thought you might say that,” said Violet. She looked like she wanted to cry, but hadn't the energy to. Isadora knew that feeling all too well. She sighed unhappily. “I just want it to be over. It is, but it isn't at the same time. I feel like I exist in the space between the events and what came after. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Isadora breathed. She kissed Violet's hand, a display of friendship and solidarity that could mean more, if Violet wanted it to.

But now wasn't the time. 

“Can you sleep in my bed tonight?” Violet asked her tentatively. “I don't want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” said Isadora. She climbed in next to her, even though the bed was much too small for the both of them. Isadora didn't mind. 

(Later, she wrote poems about that night. She scrapped them all save one, in which she'd directly quoted Violet. She never got the chance to show it to her.)

The second time, it was autumn. Everything was golden outside, from the sunshine to the falling leaves. Isadora liked this time of year; she liked the inspiration she got from the season. Violet didn't. 

Isadora arrived home from school to see Violet reading. She only had a little while until she had to get ready for her after school job, so she headed to the kitchen for a snack. She made herself a sandwich from Sunny's homemade bread and some leftover chicken and sat at the table. Violet joined her after a few minutes, looking downcast.

“Are you alright?” Isadora asked through a mouthful of sandwich. 

“Yes, of course,” Violet replied. “How was your day?”

“It was good, actually,” Isadora said cheerfully. “We started writing essays in English and we learned how to calculate interest in math class.” She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “Quigley also wrapped Duncan in some ribbon they found and tried to gift him to Klaus.” She smiled, remembering. 

Violet chuckled. “He's already started looking into universities.”

“Klaus?”

Violet nodded. “Early application.”

“What does he want to go into?”

“He doesn't know yet. Something literary, probably. Maybe a professor.” She smiled, but then it faded from her face. “I'm jealous.”

Isadora looked down. She knew how much Violet wanted to go to high school like the rest of them; she saw the sadness on Violet's face every day when they left the house. She took on the roles of both breadwinner and homemaker for their little family without complaint, but Isadora knew she didn't like it. 

“I'm never going to be able to go to university,” Violet said, suddenly sounding like she was about to cry. “I haven't graduated high school. I work in a garage under a false identity, lying about my age so my co-workers don't think it's strange when I say I have to pick up Sunny and Bea from kindergarten.” Tears began to drip from her eyes. “There's so much I haven't done and so much it's already too late for me to do. But not for Klaus, and it hurts. It hurts so much.” She wiped her face. 

Isadora took her hand. Smiling ruefully, she said, “do you want the truth, or something beautiful?”

“Something beautiful,” Violet said immediately.

Isadora began to speak, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes we see opportunities as windows, slowly closing with every moment of hesitation. Or maybe they're doors, locked until you do something that bursts it wide open. But this isn't true for university, Violet.” She looked into Violet's eyes. “It's a winding road. Sometimes your access is blocked because some idiot parked their car wrong, but they have to move it eventually.” Violet chortled. “And then it's just there. For the rest of your life. You can explore it or leave it, but it's always there. You have the rest of your life to go down that road. I know it feels like we've lived a thousand years, but we're only as old as the years we've aged.” 

Violet nodded, smiling genuinely now. “Thank you,” she said. “I needed that.”

“Any time,” Isadora said. She checked her watch. “Oh, I have to get going.” She stood up, bringing her plate to the counter. 

“When will you be home?” Violet asked. 

“I'm working late, so ten o'clock?” Isadora guessed, walking into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

“See you then, Violet said. “And be safe on the way home.”

“I always am,” Isadora told her.

(She scribbled down what she remembered of that speech on the bus to work, intending to use the last sentence in a poem. She never got around to it.)

The last time, it was winter. February, to be exact, and deathly cold. The world seemed to be covered in white. Colours were muted and fading and the air had a sense of being resigned. It should have been a happy time. Violet's eighteenth birthday had passed, and she'd finally inherited the Baudelaire fortune. After paying what they owed on the rent, she'd bought them all presents; small luxuries they hadn't had since before the fires. They would have been relaxing and enjoying themselves. Instead, Violet and Quigley were fighting. 

It started with whispered arguments and progressed steadily until neither could look at the other without becoming furious. The atmosphere in the little apartment was frighteningly tense. When they were in the same room as Isadora, she scarcely dared to breathe. She hated to see them like this, but didn't know how to intervene.

The fight was over what was to be done with the Baudelaire fortune. Violet wanted to take her siblings and get out, live in a walled mansion in want of nothing, just like her childhood. Quigley wanted her to wait a year until they inherited the sapphires so they could all move together, but Violet didn't want to wait. She'd offered to pay for the triplets, but Quigley refused and got Duncan to back him up, so that was the majority. They'd hurled so many accusations and insults at each other that Isadora wondered if they even loved each other anymore. They'd been the perfect couple for all four months they'd been together, and this was their first and only fight. 

It was snowing when Violet finally yelled, "we're leaving tomorrow, and there's nothing you can do about it!" She stormed out of the living room and sat on the fire escape in the snow, crying.

Isadora opened the door tentatively. "Violet?"

She looked up, but didn't turn around.

"Are you really leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes."

Isadora stepped outside, shut the door, and sat beside Violet. She shivered, looking down at the traffic below them. "What are you going to do?"

"Live in a hotel," she murmured, "hire architects and builders, and commission a house."

They were silent for a few moments.

"Are you breaking up with Quigley?" Isadora asked. 

"I don't know." She looked at Isadora. Isadora wanted so badly to kiss her then. She was so beautiful, with tear tracks on her rosy cheeks and snow in her long hair. "It's hard. And complicated. I love him, but..."

"But?" Isadora prompted.

"That's it," Violet said. "There's something that's not right, but I don't know what it is. It's just 'but'."

"It sounds like you might not love him," Isadora suggested gently.

"I might not," Violet said quietly. 

They didn't speak for a long while. The snow fell. The cars beneath them travelled on.

"Do you want the truth, or something beautiful?" Isadora asked softly.

"Neither," said Violet.

All four Baudelaires left the next morning, and the goodbyes were tearful. Violet promised to write to them, and invite them all to the house when it was finished. Only she could make Isadora so sad but hopeful, worried but confident, disappointed but proud. She was the exception to the rule, the space between the known and the unknown, and Isadora loved her for it.

(Years later, when she learned of the Baudelaires' disappearance, she cried. She read old poetry and wondered and hoped and worried. Duncan placed a hand on her shoulder and asked her a question she hadn't heard in a very long time: "do you want the truth, or something beautiful?" "Neither," replied Isadora.)


End file.
